


A Chthonic Consolation

by Imperfectcurl



Series: Blind Navigation [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Tony Stark, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperfectcurl/pseuds/Imperfectcurl
Summary: If the Winter Soldier allowed Hydra to bring him his Equal, how would Tony change the world?





	1. To Hell in a Handbasket

**Author's Note:**

> So KahunaBurger had written the best comment: "If [Barnes]'d just let them get him a Tony, they could have destroyed HYDRA from the inside together" and it's been rolling around in my brain since
> 
> soooo I wanted to try it out.

Intelligence isn’t enough. Survival boiled down to adaptability.

It was the searing off of a piece of flesh for every event out of your control—for every piece of yourself you had to give away and replace with one acceptable to circumstance.

The first few times had been painful—liquid fire to his soul—but, at some point, it had gotten easier; he had grown numb to the countless sacrifices.

Or maybe there simply wasn’t anything left.

Maybe he had stripped himself bare and this grotesque patchwork of scars and masks was him now. A scorched and blackened soul unwanted and unfixable.

Well, that wasn’t completely true.

After all, _someone_ had cuffed him to this piece of shit pole.

Tony’s fingertips scraped against the pockmarked concrete until they brushed against the piece of metal bolted into the floor. With the clang of his handcuff, he groped his way up in the dark to feel the beginnings of, possibly, a bed—cot, he corrected.

Well. In his experience, that was never good.

His hand dropped back down, and he pulled it in as close as he could to his body. It hurt to breathe—it hurt to blink. His head felt like it had been cracked open and the insides drained out; his stomach soured and threatening to empty at any moment; his right leg was definitely broken. Even lulling his head across his forearm, a makeshift pillow, brought the world to a swirling standstill.

_Fuck._

How many times was he expected to cope with—endure—these trials before he could just give up? Lie down; give in.

_Starks of made of iron._

Well fuck you, Howard. Turns out iron can’t withstand a fucking tree for shit.

No, Tony wasn’t iron—didn’t want to _be_ iron. He’d be more than Howard—better. Stronger. Smarter. Unique.

Rhenium to his father's shitty iron.

So whatever this turned out to be, it wasn’t going to stop him. This was just

One.

More.

Fire.

Just another thing to adapt to...

Would be nice if they didn’t do it on exam week though.

The screeching of a reinforced metal door jarred his train of thoughts and made the pounding in his head so much worse. The introduction of light only complicated matters. Tony fluttered his lashes, getting his eyes used to the change through short little bursts. By the time he wasn’t tearing up at the intensity, he found himself staring at a pair of overly-expensive, bespoke shoes.

So not the ransom-type of kidnapping.

“How are we feeling?”

Tony jumped at the voice—that creepy sort of calm one that screamed ‘I’m crazy and totally fine with it, guys!’

Also, who the fuck says ‘we’?

“Is your leg broken too, asshole?”

The man snickered as he squatted down. Tony’s skin crawled at the proximity; he could _feel_ the heat radiating off his captor. “Ever a handful, aren’t you, Anthony.”

“Oh dear, oh dear; have ‘we’ been reading the tabloids again? I can promise, it’s _way_ more than a handful.”

He felt a hand slide through his hair and promptly yank to force his head back.

Tony found himself staring up at the middle-aged version of an all-American golden boy, well-groomed with penny-colored hair swept tastefully back and to the left of his forehead—looked real too. One of those types who aged well with attractive laugh lines and barely noticeable crowfeet.

A real Robert Redford sort of guy.

He looked vaguely familiar, but Tony couldn’t place it. The three-piece suit, high quality fabric and perfectly tailored, yelled ‘casually powerful and knows it’, a look Obadiah had always strived for but never succeeded at, but the drab grey color yelled ‘public servant’—ever dependable, forever unwavering in the pursuit of all things bullshit.

He and Howard probably would have gotten along splendidly.

“That’s the problem with you young people—no regard for your betters. You’ll learn your place though.”

“See, I’m not really looking for a long-term arrangement so—you know—awkward…”

The man grabbed hold of his jaw, squeezing so tightly Tony felt it pop, and lifted him by it just enough to make his back bow and increase the pressure on his bad leg to nauseating levels.

“Asset,” the man ordered, snapping his fingers as he slowly stood, forcing Tony even further back until he couldn’t help but cry out. As if making a point, the man seemed to keep his gaze and enjoy his struggle for what felt like an excruciating amount of time before finally letting go.

Tony crashed back to the ground and, clenching his teeth, hissed in his breath of sharp, shallow intakes.

“Do you know who this is, Anthony?”

Tony glanced up and at a new person, a man who must have been standing in the shadowed corner—it was more alarming that he hadn’t even realized or heard him come in.

“No,” he spit out when his captor prodded—more like kicked—him with his foot. “You know how it is—all those muzzled guys look the same to me…”

“I’m really going to enjoy you, son.” The man put his hands into his pockets and turned to the dark-haired figure, who's icy blue eyes, which hadn’t wavered from Tony’s, finally flickered towards his caller.

“This is the man that killed your parents.”

Tony swallowed. Had he guessed it was possible his father hadn’t driven drunk into a tree? Suspected, at least—Howard was far too conceited to let himself die so mundanely—but it was entirely different to hear it confirmed.

Another piece of flesh seared off.

Guess he did have something left to sacrifice.

“Perfect; how much to kill you next?”

“So much fire!” The man laughed—which, creepy because Tony was funny but he wasn’t _that_ funny. “I hear he used to be the same way.” The man patted the rather solidly built ‘Asset’ on what looked to be metal armor, covering his arm and shoulder.

 _Fuck_ , where the hell was he?

Tony tucked his head down to rest his forehead on his arm once more; felt the silent man’s refocused gaze like a physical weight.

“The lab isn’t ready yet—ensure our Mechanic doesn’t try anything stupid in the meantime.” Footsteps sounded, moving away.

“Welcome home, Anthony. Hydra’s been waiting.”


	2. Five Monkeys jumping on the Bed...

In the wake of his captor’s departure, in the pitch-black cell he’d been left to once the door had closed, the silence was deafening—it crawled across his skin and made his bones itch in protest.

This was bad.

This was really, really bad.

“ _Well_ , if Hydra’s real, I guess Idaho must actually be a real state…”

Tony heard a responding snicker practically in his ear—how the fuck was this guy moving so quietly?!—and emitted a strangled yelp when he felt warm fingers simultaneously spread across the skin about his wrist.

“I bite you know,” he threatened, trying to twist his hand out of the man’s grasp to no avail. The fingers tightened the more he struggled, and Tony quickly gave in for fear of having his wrist match his leg. Metal clinked against metal and suddenly the strain of his handcuff disappeared.

“Oh…”

The man had broken the chain.

Like it was _no big thing._

Fuck.

Tony yanked his wrist back and rubbed at the raw skin where the metal bracelet, now sitting lower, had dug in. “Thanks…”

The familiar crack of a glow stick lit the room in an eerie red, but it was bright enough for Tony to take in his surroundings.

Observation number 1? His guard turned out to be sitting _maybe_ an inch from Tony’s folded arms.

Not terrifying at all!

Tony couldn’t help but stare up at the way the man’s outfit—especially that muzzle—seemed to absorb any light like a void. He wasn’t so much revealed as his absence was noticed. Tony’s gaze skittered over him, noting his sheer size—twice as large as Tony for sure—of mostly muscle before being completely distracted by his metal armor.

Tony slowly reached out, watching the man’s gaze for any changes, until his fingers brushed up against the various plates.

The man shivered.

Huh.

Tony propped himself up on one arm and pulled the appendage closer with the other.

Correction. That was a fucking _metal arm._

The genius dragged his fingertips down the inside of his keeper’s forearm, across the wrist, before lingering over each of his perfectly rendered fingers. They curled around his own in response.

A metal arm that _worked_.

“Does it hurt?” Tony glanced up at the man, who cocked his head slightly to the side at the question. “It has to be wired into your brain, right? Does it hurt?”

The Asset leaned towards the left slightly.

“Heavy? It’s heavy?”

The man nodded.

“If you help me get out, I can fix that—I bet I could redo this whole thing.”

The little lines around the Asset’s eyes seemed to crinkle, like maybe the man was smiling, but he ultimately shook his head.

“You can’t help me or won’t help me?”

The man held up two fingers.

Tony dropped his cheek onto the back of the metal hand, which had yet to let go of his, and groaned. “Why? Why won’t you help me?”

Human fingers caught his chin and raised it so they could look at each other again. The man’s gaze flickered over his features as his thumb swiped over Tony’s lips with a gentleness the genius would not have expected.

“That literally tells me nothing.”

The metal fingers curled in his began to tap in a pattern.

“Ye-ah… I’m not an 80-year-old man; I don’t know Morse code.”

The man rolled his eyes. The human hand let go and settled on Tony’s back.

Up, looped back to the middle.

The man repeated it when Tony said nothing.

“’P’?”

Up-diagonal, down-diagonal, a slash across the middle.

“’A’?”

Long stroke down.

“’I’.”

Up, looped back, curly flourish in the downward diagonal.

“’Q’?”

The man hit him lightly on the back of the head in reprimand—rude.

Up, looped back _to the middle_ , curly flourish in the downward diagonal.

“’R’? ‘Pair’?”

The Asset returned his hand to Tony’s chin.

“That’s… equally unclear—and also, it tickled.”

A hum emitted from the mask but before Tony could offer to take it off—maybe he’d be able to get a few words if he did—the man let go and stood. He turned his back to face the door and took parade rest.

Tony could only guess he must have heard something—which seemed impossible because how could he hear anything through a metal door—because, not a few moments later, the door screeched open.

Light poured in, yet again, and two guards entered. “Soldier, Pierce wants the kid taken to the lab.”

The Asset stepped around to Tony’s side and, as gently as he seemed capable, scooped Tony up.

He screamed at the pain in his leg.

“Shut the fuck up,” one of the guards demanded.

“Let him practice, Joe. I hear this’ll be nothing.”

The two men chuckled like assholes but then practically tripped over themselves to move out of the way as he was carried out.

He doubted it was a reaction to him.

Tony filed it away for later.

“Please don’t take me there,” he begged softly. “Don’t do this.”

The man glanced down at him out of the corner of his eye but must have decided to ignore his request because he simply continued to walk.

Dread filled Tony with every step.

Not good; not good; not good.

He remembered Aunt Peggy’s tales of the horrible things she and the Commandos had found among the Hydra bases—the experiments they’d conducted and the mangled corpses left behind. At the time, he thought she’d just been trying to scare him.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

The Asset carried him into a decidedly unsterile room pretending to be a lab. The copper discoloration along the walls, speaking to poor structural planning in his opinion, and wide, circular lights that somehow seemed to both increase visibility and do jack shit; the whole thing screamed ‘evil layer’ with a dash of ‘zombie apocalypse’ for good measure. To the far left was an evenly spaced row of five, stoic individuals propped up on medical cots, their bodies strapped in, and dutifully looking at nothing. Four men, one woman. He noted a blue bag being hooked up to an IV.

Never good when an unnatural color is going in, he thought.

He was placed on a white table—where the hell was _his_ bed—perpendicular to the row of people, perfectly placed in the middle underneath one of those useless lights; the Asset immediately retreated a few steps back and stood perfectly, inhumanly still.

Nothing good happens on a medical table in a should-not-be medical room. Tony struggled to get up—to get the fuck off this thing—but hands pushed him down and he felt himself be strapped in. Tony screamed in agony as his bad leg was jostled and then over-aggressively restrained.

“We have a dilemma, Anthony.”

Tony sucked in rapid, shallow breaths through clenched teeth, trying to ground himself again, and looked back towards the Asset, finding Pierce—that was what the guards had called him—standing just to the right but slightly closer.

“Is it all the health code violations?”

“Fortunately, it’s quite easy to remedy.”

“No, I think you’re just going to have to tear it all down and start from scratch—unless Nazis have unlimited budgets, which...” Tony nodded towards the cracked concrete walls, “seems unlikely.”

Pierce patted his bad leg in reprimand, all the while continuing to smile indulgently at him. Tony dug his nails into his hands to stop from screaming.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed these soldiers?” Pierce nodded towards the eerie row of people. Tony turned his head to look when it became obvious his captor was waiting for him to follow the implied instructions.

“Sure…” He wasn’t exactly sure where this was going.

“They have worked very hard to get here today, Anthony—fought hundreds of their fellow candidates; proven their loyalty to us.”

“Did they know they’d end up in this shithole?”

“What do you think of them?”

“They’ve wasted their life.”

“ _Anthony—_ you should really take this seriously.”

“Oh, well now that you’ve said…” He rolled his eyes.

“Your father was thoughtful enough to provide us with his very last invention—”

“—is it thoughtful if you kill him for it?”

Pierce held out a hand and the Asset provided one of his guns. The captor placed the muzzle firmly against Tony’s hip bone in a blatant threat. “ _Unfortunately_ , your father only provided five in total.”

Tony swallowed. “S-sounds like a math problem; I’ll be the bigger man and pass—they worked hard.”

 “That’s really not your choice, son. But I will be kind and allow you to choose who you will replace.”

“I think we have different definitions of kind…”

“Choose, Anthony.”

“What am I being ‘gifted’ with?” He stalled.

“Your father was obsessed with the great Captain, was he not? You’re going to far surpass him. Today is the beginning of your new life—your new purpose.”

Tony swallowed. “I don’t understand…”

“Your father’s replicated the super-soldier serum, son, and _you_ have the honor of becoming one. Now, choose.”

Tony braced himself. “No.”

Pierced watched him for a moment and Tony heard the gun at his hip cock.

His brain screamed in fear, imagining the pain he was about to receive, but he refused to outwardly show it to this bastard. He wouldn’t fold.

“Choose, Anthony,” the man repeated calmly.

“No.”

“Remember your choice, son.” He nodded towards the Asset, who turned mechanically and shot all five. Tony cursed in surprise, but it was drowned out as the Asset then proceeded to eliminate the blue bags as well—unexpectedly by Pierce’s face.

Pierce turned and shot the Asset in the shoulder and then the leg; but not before four were splashed across the floor.

“Take him to the chair,” Pierce ordered angrily. The Asset glanced at Tony, a flash of a smirk crossing his face, before being hauled out by the two guards that had followed them in.

They didn’t realize, Tony thought.

He’d seen that inhuman speed—how even the last soldier had barely enough time to register what had happened—but it hadn’t been replicated for the bags. The man had _deliberately slowed_ his shooting enough that Pierce would hit him prior to finishing his elimination but fast enough that he managed to explode exactly four of the bags.

Tony thought about the word that had been drawn on his back.

He was fucked.


	3. Death is a Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes up a supersoldier--well, super at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it! Don't worry--Winter will be back next chapter.

Tony’s consciousness clawed its way back from oblivion.

He felt… _good_.

Like he’d managed to get a full-night’s sleep—damn, he’d have to tell Rhodey he was right—without drugs, exhaustion, or booze fueling it.

He felt… _healthy._

Something he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Not since Anna had been alive and constantly bribed him into eating.

But most of all, he felt no _pain_.

The rib that had never healed right, the damaged nerve that flared up, the tiny remnants of test tubes that had remained embedded in his hands were all blissfully silent. Dare he say—Fixed.

His eyes fought the grit of sleep and tears to flutter open. Depressing, cold-war concrete and the same diffusive light he’d stared at while screaming through his initiation into the coveted super-soldier club.

Only now it was far too bright.

Like a fucking _sun_.

“He’s awake, Lukin,” said a voice, unbelievably and unnecessarily _loud_ , to his right. Tony lulled his head to the side to catch a glimpse of the rude woman perched delicately on the table at his elbow—correction, the _beautiful,_ rude woman. She was busy filing her nails with a metal filer and exuding an air of utter boredom.

“What? Waiting like a creeper by an unconscious teenager not interesting enough, lady?”

A pair of bright green, almond-shaped eyes flickered sideways to look at him. Eyes he could focus so well on he could see the little flecks of blue mottled in them and a slight misshape to the right pupil.

Well, that wasn’t normal.

She stood, the silk of her black qipao dress slipping down to settle correctly over flawless alabaster skin—did his look that nice now too?—and turned to face him entirely with a puckered mouth. Tony blinked slowly as he tried to figure out what the garish red shape was that curled over her shoulder and spilled across the neck and right breast of the dress.

A flower?

No.

An octopus?

 _Right._ He was with Hydra.

Damnit.

“You do know that octopuses can’t grow their limbs back, much less two-for-one…”

The woman looked unamused but tilted her head in mimic to watch him in return. It reminded him of his mother. “Why is he yelling?”

“Ignoring my point doesn’t make your symbol less stupid.”

He jolted in surprise when a pair of hands entered his field of vision to turn his head upright. Long, spindly fingers—gross—brushed over his chin, up his cheeks, and skittered across his forehead. It felt like sandpaper and Tony shook his face to try to get them off.

“You’re fine, pet,” a male voice above him purred. “Hypersensitivity is not unexpected—there are notes of similar occurrences with the Asset.”

“Is that so?” The woman’s entire demeaner changed—like a spider with a fly—and she shifted her grip on her filer. “How unfortunate for you, child.”

She slowly, excruciatingly, began to press the object into the juncture between his shoulder and chest. Tony screamed as his skin gave way.

“Really, Valentina; there is a proper order to these things.”

Once it was finally embedded to the hilt, she wiggled it a bit with a thoughtful hum. “Lighten up; one little cut won’t affect your tests.” She directed a saccharine smile Tony’s way before the horrid demon brutally yanked it out.

Tony looked down, trying not to sob or throw up, and watched the hole begin to clot. He could _feel_ the wound starting to stitch back together, like an itch he couldn’t scratch that started deep in his chest and slowly inched its way up.

He shivered. It had worked—the old man had _actually_ done it.

Tony laughed a bit hysterically. How do you like them apples, Howard? He now surpassed that hack in every conceivable way—the man had _finally_ given him a gift worth all those years of _hell_.

“It mends much quicker than the Soldier’s.”

The male walked around the table, a forgettable looking guy maybe a few years older than Tony, and stopped parallel to ‘Valentina’ on the opposite side. He couldn’t see much passed his chest, the straps holding him down tightly enough that he had no leverage, but he didn’t need to in order to feel those creepy hands inappropriately caress the bare skin of his thigh, starting far too high for his liking and moving towards his knee.

When the hell had he lost his clothes?!

“Hey—no touchy-touchy,” he demanded, pulling at his restraints uselessly.

“Calm down, pet; we just need to check your leg.”

“I am not your fucking bunny, asshole, and that’s _not_ anywhere near where I broke it. Get off me!”

Tony looked around, expecting to find the Asset nearby—not that he would be _any_ help (jackass) but he wanted to scream at him too for his part in all this—but it was only him and these two weirdos

At least the dead bodies had been removed.

Tony banged his head on the table in frustration; the ‘doctor’ tsked; the woman uttered a twinkling laugh that grated on his ears.

“Don’t stress so much, child; this isn’t even the beginning of what’s going to happen.”

\--$$$--

The pain had been unbearable. Far worse than anything Tony had experienced in his short life—during which he had been subjected to a multitude of means and intensities, so this was really _next level shit_ , in his opinion. His only respite was the few hours of blissful darkness at night, sweating off the pain and drugs on his cot until he could pass out.

Tony groaned, coming to, and rolled over. He immediately slammed into a wall.

Goddamnit.

“ _Finally_ ; I don’t understand why we didn’t just wake him.”

“Young boys need their sleep, Valentina.”

 _Wow_ , creepy much?

Tony rolled back to his original position and sat up, only to immediately bang his head against a thick metal barrier above.

“ _Fuck_!” He curled over his knees and rubbed his head delicately. Something tapped on the wall to his right.

Ting-Ting-Ting.

Great. Tony rolled his head, so his cheek rested on his knees, and stared through the glass barrier to see Valentina squatting rather unladylike in a tight-fitting pair of jeans. She giggled—a sound he had learned to _hate_ over these past three days and tended to fill the pit of his stomach with iron-weighted dread.

Valentina only ever giggled when he was about to start screaming bloody murder.

“Are you ready, child?”

Tony glanced around his cage to see what had her so excited and froze when his gaze landed on a large, ominous opening flush against the far end of the tank, dribbling rust-colored water.

That could _not_ be good.

“For what?” He asked, cringing prematurely since, whatever the answer was, he wasn’t going to like it.

“To find out how long you can hold your breath.”

Water began pouring out of the grate, swirling around his legs at an alarming rate.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

He struggled to push himself away but there was really nowhere to go. Tony began banging on the glass. “No, No, NO. NO!”

Tony fought back tears and banged desperately. He knew how this would end. These people were not going to just stop the water—he was going to fucking drown!

Tony punched the glass with his fist, screaming his outrage.

His breathe shuttered.

There was a crack. He’d made a _crack._

A laugh bubbled up, almost hysterical. _Duh_ , he thought, _Supersoldier._

Tony started slamming his fist into the same spot.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He ignored the water rising to his waist and put all his anger and pain into each punch. He could feel his bones jarring, fracturing apart.

This wasn’t going to happen—he wasn’t going to let himself be broken by these deranged Nazis. Tony was _getting out_ or he’d fucking die trying.

 Tony just kept at it until it all shattered under his hands. He fell out of the tank along with all the water. Sucking in gobs of panicked air, he rose to his hands and knees, his brow placed on one of the shards of glass strewn across the floor.

Lukin shouted for the guards somewhere in the distance.

He wasn’t going to get another chance like this. Did he try to run? They had guns and he’d seen Valentina—she walked like some of the special agents Howard worked with.

No; he needed a plan. He needed to be _careful_.

_Think; Think; THINK._

Tony hesitated for a split second—god this was going to hurt—before he grabbed the largest, sharpest shard and stabbed himself in the meat of his thigh. He snapped the end off and drove the embedded piece further into the wound with the new end before it could begin clotting.

Time to make his mother proud.

Tony sat up, screaming, and made a show of yanking the top end out. The guards grabbed him under the arms as he dropped the shard and hauled him to the table. With guns pointed at his head, the room seemed to gradually calm until the only sounds was Tony hiccuping, spilling crocodile tears, as Lukin began ripping out chunks of glass in anger.

“You _idiot;_ you had _one job_!” Valentina slapped the scientist across the face. “Pierce will be pissed when he comes back, and _I_ am not taking the blame for this!”

The man made to hit her back but _immediately_ recoiled at her glare. “We write this off as a strength test. Just keep your goddamn mouth shut and he’ll never know,” he hissed. “Get him out of here and get someone to clean up this mess!”

Joe and George—right? You’d think Nazi’s would have better names—dragged him back to his cell and unceremoniously dropped him in front of the bed.

Really?! It was like _five more feet_ to hit the cot! What _assholes_.

“Impressive, kid,” George offered before slamming the door shut.

Tony dragged himself up onto his bed and curled in on himself, trying to calm his heart and not think about the shard being sealed under his skin.

You know, where there were major arteries and nerves and shit.

Tony tried to think of anything else until dinner finally arrived.

And in the dark, Tony dug the glass out with the prongs of his fork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lukin is a descendant of the Marvel one--not the original.


	4. Fear is a Burden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had wanted to have a chapter between the last and this one buuut I clearly didn't want to write it so I've given up and didn't
> 
> Note: The bold, italicized sentences are to signify being spoken/recalled in Italian.

“How very quaint…” Valentina said with an over-enthusiastic clap of her hands as she stepped into Tony’s little slice of hell.

Well, shit.

The woman tittered as she held out her arms and brushed her wiggling fingertips along the opposite walls. “How _did_ the Soldier survive this place—the perfect size for you, of course, but he’s just so _big_.”

He rolled his eyes.

Short jokes; how original.

“Why are you here, Val?”

Valentina swung around to look at him, her dress’ full, billowy skirt swirling about her knees, and clasped her hands in front of her. “It’s a _very_ special day, child.”

Tony stopped watching the iridescent fabric mottle with various shades of green and looked up into the woman’s stupid, gleeful face. “Let me guess, it’s your day off and we’re going for a picnic in park.”

The woman gracefully sunk down to sit beside his bed. “Oh, my sweet summer child,” she crooned, “you’re never seeing the sun again.” She tapped her index finger thoughtfully over the cupid’s bow of her lips. “Well, that isn’t _entirely_ true—just not any time you’ll remember.”

 _Definitely_ not alarming in _any way_.

But that was the point—that was _always_ the point with Valentina.

He hissed sympathetically. “Does the sun burn your skin? Is that the problem?”

“I _do_ enjoy that spirit of yours, Anthony; it’s lasted surprisingly long.” She laid one arm atop the other on the bed to rest her cheek against, so they were eye-level.

“What can I say; coping mechanisms are the core of my personality.”

“Is that a product of your father?” The woman paused, seeming to take stock of him, and a slow smile crossed her lips. “Or was it your mother?”

“All those failed kidnappings, I suspect,” he replied blithely.

“And how do we compare?”

“Predictable.”

In actuality, this was the longest case to date by weeks and Tony was beginning to question if he’d be able to ever make it end. Alexander was volatile on the occasions he appeared, playing a far-too familiar game to induce what Jarvis had once called ‘trauma bonding’—not that knowing what it was stopped it from happening; Valentina was unpredictable but nevertheless observant; Joe and George never left any openings—not since his delirium-induced escape attempt anyway; and Lukin...

Lukin might actually be the one to break him.

“And yet you’re still here.”

“I can’t help it—I’ve fallen for you, Val.”

She smiled. “I must admit; when Sasha first explained his fanciful little plans for some spoiled teenage genius, I really wasn’t sold.”

“You don’t say…”

“I _know_ —I’m so friendly by nature—”

“—really the only notable trait—”

“—but I’m rather glad you’re here now.” She sat up straight. “You’re so much more _fun_ to play with than the bores in this place.”

“I aim to please…”

“I think I’ll miss it terribly when you’re gone.”

Ah. Back to the purpose at hand.

“I would be _happy_ to come visit you in prison, Valley.”

She laughed. “Is that how you imagine this ending?”

“How do you?”

“I’m _so_ glad you asked, воробушек*.” She stood and brushed off her dress, fixing where it snagged on her petticoats. “Bring him along, boys.”

“Where are we going?”

Valentina paused in the doorway, awash in light like some demented angel, and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I told you; it’s a _very_ special day.”

Wow; _so super helpful_.

Yet, curiosity piqued, the genius swung his feet off the bed and followed her out obediently—much to Joe and George’s surprised relief.

“This will have to be our little secret, though; Sasha would be _very_ unhappy about this.”

Tony glanced at the guards walking behind him, instantly finding a flaw in her plan, but he suspected the woman didn’t actually care; she simply wanted him to ask why.

Which he wasn’t going to do.

Because fuck you, Val.

Instead, he focused on where they were headed. Thus far, Tony had been confined to the same four halls clustered by his cell, none of which provided any views of potential exits, but today was a _special_ day so he really shouldn’t have been surprised when they kept going. It soon became clear that they were descending further into the bowels of this place—much to his disappointment—until the rough ground under his bare feet grew damp and puddles of green-tinged water littered the path.

Ugh, gross.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a metal door, indistinguishable from all the rest they had passed—how anyone knew where the fuck they were going, he had no idea. Pushing the door open to an empty room, Valentina directed him to the prominent, one-way mirror on his right. Pierce stood on the other side, arms linked behind his back, as scientists skittered like bugs in and out of the inky shadows cast by an unnecessarily bright spotlight.

He glanced left to see what the man was looking at, only to find some bastardized dentist chair, rigged with an ominous headpiece and reinforced restraints for every limb. He had to double take to be sure he’d seen right. “What the hell is that?”

Valentina wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind, pressing her cheek to his. “That, child, is what’s going to kill Anthony Edward Stark.”

Before he could figure out which question to even ask, all the little bugs froze at the sound of the door to the far right banging open. The Asset, face downcast and body limp, was promptly dragged in by the upper arms and discarded at Pierce’s feet.

Tony couldn’t look away from the gaping, open wound obliterating the broad expanse of the man’s back; _layers_ upon _layers_ of overlapping lashes had torn him apart until pieces of _bone_ could be seen.

Except.

Except it wasn’t all bone—bone didn’t slough off and sprinkle across the floor.

_But salt did._

Is this what had been happening all these weeks? Is this where the man he’d been cursing all this time had been?

“You see, воробушек, _today_ is the most exciting part of our little Soldier’s recalibration—”

“—what does that mean?”

_“Get up, Asset,” Pierce barked._

“What do you do if your most valuable clock starts to run slow?”

Tony felt her smile against his skin as dread crawled up his spine. “Fix it, I guess…”

“ _Exactly_ ,” she agreed, letting him go to walk closer to the window. “You take it apart, _piece by piece_ , and, once you’ve relieved it of all those _troublesome_ parts, you put it back together.” She let go and stepped around him towards the glass. “Ensure it complies with your needs—ensure it’s useful again.”

_The man slid his hands to be parallel with his ribs and, with a tremor, pushed himself up. Blood oozed and coated the salt-licked wounds as the man stood perfectly still, awaiting orders._

“He’s a person—it doesn’t work like that; _the brain doesn’t work like that,”_ he protested.

“Well, he _was_ a person—I’ll give you that—and, while a _human_ proved never able to survive, our dear little Солдат* did. Want to guess why?”

Tony glanced down at his arms; arms no longer covered in burned-out holes.

_“Calibration is required,” Pierce demanded sternly._

Tony looked back up, heart and mind racing, and watched in horror as the Asset _willingly got into the chair._

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This was _so much worse_ than he imagined; this was not just wanting him to build weapons or converting him to a cause or demanding money—they didn’t want _Tony Stark_ ; they wanted a new Asset.

One with Tony Stark’s brain.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The harpy asked as she perched, back to the glass, on the window’s lip.

“ _Fuck you_.”

“Oh I _know_ , child; accepting a fate like yours is rather unappealing but did you _really_ think Hydra was just like _all_ those other little kidnappers? That you’d just scamper away from the very organization Captain America himself couldn’t defeat?”

“Then why did Pierce not do it immediately?! Why not _show_ me this himself?”

 “Well, let’s be honest, you’re _far_ more likely to do something stupid now, aren’t you?”

“Is that why you brought me here?”

“Oh no, child; I brought you so I could watch all that hope you’ve been hoarding shrivel up and die.” She clapped her hands together with a grin, leaning forward to whisper, “It’s going swimmingly, I might add.”

The scientists began to strap the guy in—the guy _without his mask_.

He couldn’t tell you exactly what he’d imagined but it wasn’t someone barely older than himself; it _sure as fuck_ wasn’t someone he’d recognized anywhere.

Something dark and cold, a malicious creature that had long lived deep in his heart, stirred at the realization that this was _actually_ happening. This was where he might actually die.

**_There are two types of creatures in this world._ **

In this dark, disgusting hole.

**_There are predators._ **

Among these dark, disgusting souls.

**_And there are prey._ **

Right next to Bucky fucking Barnes.

**_And one day, Starlight, you will have to make a decision._ **

 “This isn’t going to kill me. Whatever this is, it doesn’t work for long—otherwise he wouldn’t be back in it. I’ll survive it, just like him.”

**_Are you going to be just like your father?_ **

She laughed harshly. “Oh, Anthony, you’re not the surviving kind.”

**_Or are you your mother’s child?_ **

The switch was flipped and Tony forced himself to watch the man be burned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *воробушек (vorobushek) - little sparrow  
> *Солдат (soldat)- soldier


	5. Trust is a Luxury Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days are even more of a struggle
> 
> NOTICE: This chapter is occurring between Chapter 3 and Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long to do and I'm so sorry but SO GLAD to be so close. I needed to just drop part 1so I didn't obsess anymore; part 2 will be posted in a day or so, followed by the Winter Soldier chapter I've promised. 
> 
> I realized after lots of hemming and hawing that the gremlin wonking my work wouldn't ever leave unless the order of events simply changed. However, since I have no idea how the update notifications work and I don't want anyone who's read this prior to 12/12/2019 to get confused, the plan will be as follows:
> 
> I will leave this chapter as chapter 5&6 for a few weeks, then move it back to be chapter 4&5\. I'll put a date disclosure on Chapter 4,5,6 saying the ordered changed so anyone who reads after knows
> 
> As I mentioned in Pet Dilemma, I'm so sorry it took so long but I'm back! I missed this and thank you to everyone for their patience! (Hopefully this will not be a disappointment)

The thing his captors clearly misunderstood, even after all these weeks, was that Anthony Edward Stark had not simply endured his childhood; he’d assimilated it.

Corruption.

Perversion.

Exploitation.

_Death._

He had not simply survived—he had **_evolved_** and would do so again.

Because he had to. (right?)

Yes, this was an entirely new level of hell—an unending and unstoppable nightmare of horror after horror, test after ‘test’, _savagery after savagery—_ and, yes, there were days in this shithole when all he could think of was just how deep that little glass shard would need to dig in order to overcome his healing factor—an easier feat since Lukin had begun starving him ‘in the name of science’ (aka retaliation for the tank debacle)—and the idea of submitting to Pierce’s will held more appeal than the constant grinding of his soul at the hands of jackals. But for each of those days, something inside him snapped back with a fury he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

 _Resist_ , it demanded.

 _Adapt_ , it reminded.

 _Destroy_ , it suggested.

Tony progressively found himself filling the days imagining an alternative use for that shard: stabbing Lukin’s eyes out—the voyeur aroused in his helplessness; cutting out Valentina’s tongue—the serpent delighting in his struggles; eviscerating Joe and George—the gatekeepers trading him; decapitating Pierce—the man with whom nothing happened without explicit consent. (yeah, asshole, he figured that out)

But far more morbidly—and this was probably, _definitely_ more of a concern—he was finding this place to be… well, rather _boring._

It wasn’t that he’d grown numb. (if only) The pain was still excruciating; the struggle still desperate. But torture did not require thought; experiments only made for routine. He couldn’t invent. He couldn’t _build._ He couldn’t even read a goddamned book. (did Nazis even read?)

He couldn’t _think_ in this place and it was starting to give him headaches; the best— _the best—_ he got was the creepy little crossword visits Pierce insisted on—and by creepy he meant awkward as fuck because, come on, who does that? What even _is_ that? (also, what was with the author’s weird obsession with Armadillos?)

What the hell did these people even _want_?

Pierce had yet to try and force him to build or even _do_ anything; Valentia just did whatever most entertained her at the time; and Lukin seemed far more interested in having Tony ‘sit’, strapped to one of the dead-people cots—he’d named it ‘Edna’; they were friends now—and watch the horrific experiments the ‘doctor’ and his fellow ‘scientists’ performed on other prisoners than doing any such things on him.

It seemed his life had become one long, confusing shuttle of pain-filled, whimsical, fucked-up school trips and horrific ‘sleepovers’ in a dark-ass whatever-this-fucking-room was.  

And being a supersoldier?

Meant nothing in this place— _not a thing_ —when your captors were overly prepared to handle it.

Yet more bullshit to thank the Asset!

Although that guy was probably dead…

Alright, _fine_! M _aybe_ —emphasis on _maybe—_ it wasn’t entirely on _that guy;_ maybe, yes, beyond the basics Jarvis had taught him, he’d done little to learn how to fight—but, in his defense, why bother when you could outsmart everyone?!

He wanted _out._ He wanted to _go home._ Most of all, though, he wanted a harder question than ‘relative of a goddamn anteater’—

“—WHERE IS HE?!”

—and for that door to _not open._

“—What fool built this place?! How are you supposed to find anything?!”

Like really, really, _not open._

“—Well?! What are you waiting for, you idiot, an invitation?!”

Because there was no mistaking _that_ voice— _that_ tone.

Shit. Shit. _Shit._

“—Do your job!”

A weird, mangled sound filled Tony’s ears as the reinforced hatch screeched open and it took him a second to realize it wasn’t the door; it was coming from _him_. A maniacal… _thing_ —a matching howl to the chaos roiling inside him because

what.

the.

actual.

_fuck._

“Get out of my way,” his intruder groused while he elbowed his way into the room.

He hadn’t been _captured._

_“You!”_

_He had been sold._

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at, you _stupid_ boy!?”

And by the most _obvious person ever._ (god, his mother would be so disappointed)

 “Dungeons and Dragons, clearly,” he deadpanned. “Why—did you want to join, Uncle?”

Obadiah Stane grabbed him by the hair and yanked him onto the ground, “Don’t you _dare_ talk back to me!”

“ _Fine_ —we can play something else; how about Doctor—you always did love that one—”

His Uncle hit him across the face—Tony’s head snapped to the left out of habit—and yanked him forward.  “You—"

“—How about ‘guess who’? First hint: Nazi.”

The older man hit him again. “—Listen here, you little shit—"

“—You know; I’m starting to think maybe you didn’t come here to rescue me.”

 “Really haven’t changed at all, have you; still the same _annoying_ smartass—”

“—I think you mean ‘delightful’—”

“Why they wanted an absolutely _useless_ —"

“—Oi, come on! What about that gun I made last Christmas—”

“— _It didn’t work!”_

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course not; what would Santa do with a working gun?”

Obadiah clearly struggled not to rise to the bait—the man had never really been able to cope with Tony’s sass like Howard—which told Tony the ass had come with an agenda.

“You think you’re just so clever—"

Not that he was going to make it easy to execute.

“—Don’t forget handsome—”

“—But you’re still here, aren’t you?”, the man gloated.

Tony forced himself not to react; clung to the mask keeping him together as the barb hammered home his new reality: even if he _had_ gotten out, he wouldn’t have actually escaped; even if he _did_ manage to get out, there was no home now to run to…

He wasn’t ready to think about what that meant.

“They really recommend 90 days for sobriety to stick—"

“—Try until the day you _die_.”

“Can I get a revote—maybe more of a murder-suicide sort of scenario; or erotic asphyxiation.” Tony leaned back a little as Obadiah’s face turned several shades of red.

“Everything’s always a game to you, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes it’s science—"

 “— _Enough!_ ”

Tony automatically quieted. (and hated himself a little for it)

“It’s over, Tony! All of it! Bain’s sold you out—I’m still getting everything: the company, the money, the recognition—"

“—seems a bit excessive for hair plugs—”

Alright, the hitting was starting to get old.

“I’m talking about your Will, you idiot!”

A blank look.

A slow blink.

Tony took a long, silent moment to process what was being said to him:

**...**

**...**

**...**

And then burst out laughing.

The teenager struggled to breathe, _cackling_ in the face of that undeserving arrogance.

Ho.

Ly.

Hell.

With the utmost twisted delight—as a salve to the betrayal that had closed the door on a thousand escapes—Tony Stark uttered the response he’d never even _considered_ getting the pleasure to say to this asshole’s face.

It almost made this whole place worth it.

_“Which one?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story really just needed a bridge from 'survive until you get out' Chapter 3 to 'i'm staying to destroy everyone' chapter 4. Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a wayyyy darker Tony since his morality is set by Hydra and the Winter Soldier.
> 
> I know in the movies he was 21 when his parents die but I'm going to make it like 17 only so that he's met Rhodey but hasn't had his moral compass aligned with his yet(I feel like that's where Tony gets his morality from since it's obviously not Howard?)
> 
> So standard alternative universe givey needed...


End file.
